Night brings the torturous sounds of the footsteps coming up the stairs. A man screaming his heart out over the loss of his daughter, a thief gasping for life in the air. The darkness brings pain and suffering night after night. The day brings people to gawk at the at the terrifying ghost in the house. People are hunt me with painful machines every day with no break. I have no peace. Only suffering.
Darkness of the night brings only pain. The burning of the day gives no relief. I was a happy man before the darkness came and before the day brought white fire. I had a life, I had a family. I was loved by many. I was not a mad man, I was just a man.
Everyone knew me. I was adored. I was loved, but I was not missed. People forgot my name forgot me. They knew I was gone but no one seemed to care. I lay, in my final days, haunted by the footsteps. The haunting footsteps came in the night and the day brought the pain of people crowding around me, watching me slip away. I thought I was loved but it was all fake. I am really alone now with no one because I am no one. I was a Whaley, I was someone. Not just anyone. People speak my name but they don't know what it means. It meant fearless, powerful, strict. Now it’s just the tales of a mad man. I can hear all of what is said. One hundred and fifty years of tortured noise. I am alone. Cursed to an eternity of fear and pain with no end. My story will never end unless I pay for my crimes.
Imprisoned in this ghostly body. Only th. gifted can see me and they are afraid. Everyone is afraid. Those who do not believe see only an old house built on a hanging ground.
A demon slithers thru through my house and he will not leave until he deems my punishment is over He took my family away, he took my life. I have paid for my sins but it is not enough. It will never be enough. I took a man's life and he suffered as I stood there and watched for 45 minutes of pure torture. He was gasping for every breath of air, fighting for his life. A fight he could never win. I cannot bare to say his name. If I say his name I will remember all of it all of the memories I have hidden away, the memories that are too painful to remember.
My story begins in 1853. A thief and a murderer was caught. He was sentenced to death. His accomplices only got one year in prison. The thief was unusually tall. His hanging took place on the Whaley land.
The rope did not give him an instant death and he slowly suffocated. His 6 foot 4 inch frame stood on his tippie toes. I watched for forty five minutes for him to fall to the ground, cold and expressionless. I could have stopped it. I could have delayed the execution; built a higher brace or have a firing range. But no. I watched him die slowly and painfully. I watched his cold dead body fall to the ground. I watched his last breath of misery leave his body. He haunts me every day of my miserable life. He is with me, always, whether I like it or not. I can not forgive myself. I have caused too much pain and too much death.
He has paid for his crimes. I have not.
In this interdisciplinary project, we will explore how fear appears in our culture. Through the study of history, writing, and art we will seek to understand the roots, symbolism, and imagery of terror.
What is a fear you have? How can you visually express that? How can you express that through writing?
What makes a short story engaging?
How can a writer or artist use voice, imagery and symbolism to convey the feeling and message of a piece?
What are some components of a critical review? What makes it effective?
How can you incorporate the elements of art and principles of design into your work?
What writer/text or visual artist inspired your work?